If there’s one thing I don’t feel like doing tonight, it’s going to the mall so I can catch the 9:35 p.m. showing of “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.”
To be honest, I’d rather just go home. I’m tired. It’s been a long day. Tomorrow will be another long day. And that “Button” movie is almost three hours long — just thinking about it makes me yawn.
Every year, I make a point of watching all the films nominated for Oscars in major categories prior to the awards ceremony, and this year’s ceremony is Sunday, which means that I’m running out of time to see “Button.” And that I still need to squeeze in a viewing of “Revolutionary Road.” Not that I really want to see “Road” — I’m not exactly dying to watch Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet scream at each other for two hours. But Michael Shannon received a best supporting actor nod for his performance in that film, and so, being an Oscar completest, I’m basically obligated to go see it.
Yes, it’s that time of year again — when something I love becomes a burden.
I love to watch movies, and Oscar season is something I look forward to every year. I have other friends who try to watch all the movies, and we talk and compare notes and generally enjoy being part of a larger conversation about the year’s best films; my friend Bill calls this obsessive annual ritual The Quest. And yet right now, as I contemplate going to a late screening of a movie I don’t even want to see, at a place I don’t even like — the mall — The Quest feels more like a chore than the zany good time it’s supposed to be.
“You did this last year,” a friend of mine pointed out. “There was some movie you didn’t want to see, and you kept whining about it.” And it’s true — I really, really didn’t want to see “Elizabeth: The Golden Age.” When I learned that star Cate Blanchett had received a best actress nomination, I was angry. And she’s one of my favorite actresses.
The Quest drives me crazy, but I have no plans to stop doing it. It’s fun to have a project, however trivial; it adds a little excitement to the dreary winter months.
Still, I can’t help but wonder at my ability to turn play into work. Going to the movies isn’t work, of course. But when a seemingly fun activity acquires a deadline and a goal, it becomes more of a task than an avocation, and I begin to imagine all the other things I could be doing. I start to think about opportunity cost — the benefits of taking an alternative action. In this case, the benefits of going home, rather than to the mall to watch “Benjamin Button.” Why, I could be drinking beer, watching the Celtics, talking on the phone, trying to fix the wireless Internet on my laptop, sleeping! As you can see, I’m really missing out.
There are other activities that have the potential to become work-like.
For instance, I love the Boston Red Sox, but during the playoffs I often question whether I have the stamina to watch every single game which, as a fan, I’m pretty much obligated to do. It was the same when the Celtics won the NBA championship last year. I watched every playoff game, and it was a ton of fun, but I was happy when the playoffs were over, because it meant I had time to do other things . . . like watch movies. And when the New England Patriots missed the playoffs this year, I was secretly relieved, because it felt like I had a lot more free time.
The other great burden in my life right now is “War and Peace,” which I’ve been reading since August and complain about constantly. “Why are you reading that book?” my dad asked a few weeks ago. “Well, because it’s a great book,” I said. “I just wish I could read something else.” In other words, the opportunity costs associated with reading “War and Peace” are huge — the longer I spend reading it, the greater the number of good books that go unread.
It’s been a long time since I participated in organized activities, but in the fall I gave it a stab, signing up for a soccer league. I played soccer in high school, and had long thought that it would be fun to play soccer again. And it was fun, sort of. But every Sunday, as the time for playing soccer approached, I began to feel anxious. I kept checking the clock. I thought about all of the things I could be doing if I wasn’t running out to play soccer, like riding my bike, or reading, or visiting friends or simply relaxing.
Perhaps I just don’t like it when my time is highly organized. Or maybe I value my free time too much.
All I know is that I’ve got two movies to see this weekend, and I can think of about a dozen things I’d rather do.
Foss Forward makes a weekly appearance in print, in The Gazette’s Saturday Lifestyles section.
